


I’m Not Fucking Jar Jar

by andybrnards



Category: Rooster Teeth Productions RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andybrnards/pseuds/andybrnards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was done for the ragehappy secret santa on tumblr. The prompt was essentially star wars bonding. So here we go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m Not Fucking Jar Jar

Michael adjusted the collar of his shirt, judging his appearance in the full-length mirror. He’d gotten the shirt and the vest and the pants pretty easily. From his closet, from the local thrift shops, really easy as fuck to get those clothing items down. But, it had taken him forever to try to find a reasonably priced belt/thigh-holster combo that wasn’t being sold for outrageous prices by fucking fat sweat basement dwelling nerds on eBay ($250 bucks you got to be fucking kidding me!).

He considered straightening his hair, but they were already running late for registration and where the hell was Gavin? That idiot had waited until the last minute to get his outfit ready, and the only reason Michael knows this is because that British prick had kept him up half the night searching all over the internet for something. For what? For the same belt that had caused Michael problems? Because if that was the case then this fucker was going to ruin this whole thing.

This stupid idiot.

What was Han Solo without a Luke? Literally nothing. A literal fucking Solo. He groans to himself, if Han is fucking Luke-less and if that stupid asshole doesn’t come back soon, Michael is leaving without him. Han will be Luke-less and Gavin will get a kick to the balls as soon as he sees him next.

Michael stared at his reflection once more. He wasn’t as in shape as Harrison Ford, and Christ if he had half the motivation to be anyway, but he felt pretty good. The only thing that ruins a cosplay is a fucked up wig, Michael reminded himself, and if I’m using my own fucking hair, I can’t fuck it up. Running a hand through his curly locks he sighed to himself once more, maybe he should straighten it. What kind of Han Solo had curly hair, and ugh, this is Comic Con he is probably going to be taken out to a back alley to get beat up by a bunch of nerds with Lightsabers for not being accurate enough.

And then, finally, there was a knock on the hotel room door, a series of knocks actually, and Michael knew it was Gavin because the moron seemed to by trying to the tune of the Star Wars Theme Song.

Michael pulled the door open and immediately regretted it.

Jar Jar Binks was staring down at him.

“No. No. No. GAVIN ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!,” Michael shouted at as the other man walked in and sat on the bed before pulling the latex mask off of his face.

“What? You don’t like it?” Gavin pouted for a moment; before his face split open into a wide grin.

It was a scarily accurate cosplay, Michael had to admit. Gavin’s neck and arms were covered in the intricate design of Jar Jar’s skin, looking as if he’d found a professional makeup artist to do it for him. And the mask, fucking Christ, where the fuck had that thing come from? The stalk eyes and long ears were attached to the mask, and honestly if it wasn’t such a fuck-up of a character, Michael would have fucking been admiring Gavin’s dedication to the cosplay.

What a waste of beautiful fucking accuracy.

“What the fuck made you decide on Jar Jar, you prick? We had Han and Luke picked out. We had this fucking planned for months,” Michael groaned, tossing a pillow furiously at Gavin’s face.

“Yeah, and, you know. I really admire the way you look in the outfit, Michael, but I thought I would not be able to do Luke justice. So…I chose the next best character.” Gavin pulled the latex mask over his face and giggled childishly.

“Are….are you fucking kidding me. THE NEXT BEST CHARACTER?!”

“Honestly, Jar Jar is very much like myself, Michael. The guy from a different planet with a heart of gold, traveling around with a child and a couple of assholes,” came Gavin’s response, muffled, underneath the mask.

“Go fuck yourself, Gavin. I am NOT going to be seen with you in that outfit. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA THE TORMENT THAT WE WILL BE PUT THROUGH IF YOU WEAR THAT TODAY?” Michael shouted, exasperated.

Did Gavin really not get it? Did Gavin really not get that he is wearing the face of the most despised character in all of LucasFilms creation? Did Gavin fucking not understand that by doing this they will be ostracized from the Star Wars community and NEVER BE ACCEPTED AGAIN!?

“What’s the matter, Michael?” The fucking Jar Jar masked cocked its head in confusion and Michael wanted to rip it off Gavin’s head.

Michael sighed and sputtered angrily. He couldn’t find the words in his brain to truly say how fucking stupid of an idea this was.

So he grabbed a sheet of paper off the table and a pen and proceeded to crudely draw himself and Gavin as stick figures. Then, he drew about 10 round little stick figures with lightsabers beating the shit out of Gavin, and waved the paper in front of the stupid British moron’s face.

“I don’t understand, Michael. Why are these men hitting us with their penises?”

Michael shouted obscenities into the air before ripping up the paper and collapsing into the bed, “FUCK YOU.” He shouted, his voice muffled by the pillow his face had fallen into.

“I suppose you can, if you’d like to, Michael,” Gavin commented, crawling into the bed beside his flustered friend.

Michael lifted his face and stared straight at the mask of fucking Satan, the fucking stalk eyes staring straight into his soul, “Don’t you dare fucking start this gay shit, you prick. Not dressed like that.”

Gavin pulled the mask off his head once more, his hair a stringy mess, and he raised an eyebrow, “But if I start the gay shit, we won’t be wearing anything.

“Gavin.”

“Come on, let me get you out of those jeans and play with your lightsaber.”

“I swear to fucking Christ, Gavin, Han Solo doesn’t have a lightsaber. He uses a gun.”

“Okay, so that actually is a gun in your pan-“

Michael pushed Gavin down onto the bed and kissed the man hard, an accidental knock of the teeth and a gentle swipe of a tongue in apology. He wrapped a hand in Gavin’s messy mask-hair, and tugged on it, almost as if he was trying to pull Gavin’s mouth closer. Michael nipped on Gavin’s bottom lip, eliciting a soft whimper out of the other man.

“Shut the fuck up, Gavin,” Michael spat, pulling away from the idiot. He eyed Gavin up and down, the Jar Jar outfit still completely covering the moron, “I’m not fucking Jar Jar Binks.”

Gavin licked his lips, “I was just kidding, you donut. My Luke outfit is under the bed.”

“You’re a prick,” Michael shoved Gavin’s face away from his own.

“Want to touch my prick?”

“I swear to GOD.”

“I love you, Michael.”

“I know.”


End file.
